Funk to Funky
by SassyJ
Summary: What if.....Gene is Alex's saviour?
1. Chapter 1

"**Funk to Funky"**

Disclaimer: I don't own, so don't sue, only currency involved pure pleasure and an overactive imagination. _What if...Gene is Alex's saviour?_

* * *

They had seconds to go, so they ran, for once Gene kept pace with his younger DI. There was a wetness soaking his left sleeve, and a strange stabbing pain in his arm just above the elbow, but now wasn't the time to dally and check it out.

"Run!" he roared in Alex Drake's ear, "I am" she snapped back. "Well run faster, Bolly! Or are you afraid of disturbing your hairdo!" He grunted as she accelerated and he struggled to increase his pace, then the world around them exploded. His split second final reaction was to throw his arms around her and then they were tumbling and falling. The world went black.

* * *

He slowly became aware of two things, that someone was cuddled up against him, head resting against his shoulder, his chin was resting on top of someone's head; and that there was a stabbing pain in his left arm. Keeping his eyes shut, Gene inhaled slowly. His Bolly, he'd know that poncey perfume anywhere. He adjusted his position slightly, and hissed as the pain in his arm redoubled. He opened an eye and squinted down, along the length of their closely meshed bodies, then snapped back to his arm resting on her waist. The shirt sleeve was torn, and soaked in blood. He'd been shot. At least he assumed that he'd been shot, since it was unlikely that Bolly had bitten him during a night of unbridled passion, and he didn't remember any knives being in the vicinity. The point was, as he discovered when he tried to move his arm, that it hurt. A lot.

Trying to ease himself into a more comfortable position without a) waking Bolly, b) hurting himself any more than necessary, Gene had time to ponder a few things that were now seriously troubling him. Firstly, at what point she had become "His" Bolly, not just a mouthy posh tart with a head full of brains and the common sense of a grain weevil. Secondly, just why he was recalling being locked in a hot dark place with said mouthy posh tart with considerable pleasure. And finally, because unless his mind was truly failing him, why they appeared to be lying on a bed together, in a light airy bedroom, in what appeared to be a posh up market house, since the last thing he could remember from this morning was all hell breaking loose as he and Bolly were fleeing through the abandoned factory to get away from the bomb.

Gene reviewed the facts as he could see them. Without getting up and moving around that was. He was lying on a bed, in a large airy bedroom, next to his Bolly. They were both still mostly dressed, although his tie and jacket were missing, and someone appeared to have taken his boots off. Easing back a little from Bolly, he screwed his eyes shut as malevolent little trolls scurried around inside the huge hole in his arm...he waited until the waves of pain slowed to a manageable level, then opened his eyes to look more closely at his companion. It was definitely his Bolly, but not quite as he had last seen her. Instead of the soft curly perm she had been sporting, she wore a sleek cut, and strangely, a lot less make up, he was just trying to decide if he liked the more natural look, when he noticed that the clothes she was wearing were not exactly what he remembered from just before the explosion. The prim white shirt was nothing like the loose soft blue top that showed off a large expanse of slim bare shoulder, and the grey trousers were nothing like the skin tight black pants she had been wearing.

Alex came to with a jerk, suddenly aware that she was lying in Gene Hunt's arms. She sat up without thinking, which provoked a howl from Gene and a gasp from her own lips. She was looking down at her own 2008 wardrobe, well cut trouser suit, prim, crisp white shirt. She scrambled to her feet, prompting another pained yelp from the Manc Lion and threw the door wide. As she did so, several things hit her all at once. She was back in 2008, and apparently everything that had happened was not a dream or an imaginary construct, because he was right there with her. And he was hurt.

Alex turned round. Right now, her main focus had to be Gene's injury. She'd look for explanations in a minute, best deal with him first.

"Let me see." she calmly sat down next to him on the bed. His eyes were still screwed shut, his good hand gripping the sheets, as he tried to fight down the nausea that overwhelmed him when she'd jolted his arm twice in rapid succession. She gently reached out, taking his arm she tried to slide his sleeve up to have a closer look at the wound. Now Alex knew for certain, and for whatever reason, that somehow the morning's explosion had thrown both of them back into her time, and that many of her assumptions were wrong. Gene was real. Very real. She could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, the stickiness of the blood soaked into the sleeve of his shirt, hear the muttered oath as she tried to peel the shirt sleeve back and it stuck to the still sluggishly bleeding wound. And that the touch and feel of his skin beneath her fingers brought a longing to the surface that she was having trouble ignoring. DI Alex Drake, the cool intellectual plugged in officer, with an eye on the future and a handle on her life, wanted an over the hill, overweight, unreconstructed Neanderthal with a penchant for wine, women and fast cars. A dinosaur of an old fashioned copper. Alex, trained in the art of analysing her fellow man, suddenly found herself extremely reluctant to examine her own feelings. They were there, and they were going to come back to haunt her that was certain.

She clamped down on unbidden thoughts of skin against skin, his lips on hers, and strange sensations in rapid succession of first stifling heat and then freezing cold, and concentrated on the task in front of her.

"You've been shot" she looked him straight in the eye.

"And there was I thinking that you bit me in all the excitement!" he growled at her. His usually sarcastic bite somewhat diminished by the throbbing in his arm, and the hitherto unexplored desire to drag her off to his lair forthwith.

"No bullet in there, it appears to be just a graze."

"Speak for yourself, Bolly." He scowled, last thing he was going to let her see was just how much the mixture of pain and her touch were affecting him. He was also feeling somewhat confused about exactly where they were.

"I'll call a doctor."

"You won't. Fix it yourself." One thing Gene did feel certain about. Doctors. Bunch of jessies. He didn't like the medical profession. Too smooth and swanky by half. Something in the look in his eyes, made Alex agree, even though the practical, police trained side of her nature argued that he needed, at the very least a tetanus jab, and the wound should have a thorough clean and he probably could do with a stitch or two.

"Bolly, get on with it."

Reluctantly, she stood up, and exited her bedroom, pausing in the doorway to look back at the bed. He'd settled back and shut his eyes. Gene Hunt, six foot of Manc Lion, stretched out across her bed. Alex pursed her lips, squared her shoulders and headed to the bathroom for the first aid kit. She was strangely relieved to find that they appeared to be alone in her house, glancing at her watch, she noted that Molly would be at school, so she had a little time to find some answers to her latest conundrum. She retrieved the first aid kit, and went downstairs for a bowl and water.

Having found what she wanted, she climbed the stairs back to her room with a feeling of strange reluctance. She was almost afraid that he wouldn't be real. He was. He was lying across her bed, bleeding onto her duvet cover without so much as a by your leave. So very Gene. Alex squared her shoulders again. She was going to get through this without any more unbidden thoughts of a carnal nature.

She set the bowl down on the bedside table, and sat down next to him on the bed. He opened one eye. "What are you waiting for Bolly? An engraved invitation?" he closed the eye. "I won't bite." Flustered by the tide of want that welled up in her, she grabbed his arm. Both eyes snapped open, then screwed shut "Strewth, Bolly, you have the gentle touch of a wounded rhino!" Alex flushed and took his arm more carefully. Concentrating all her efforts on the nasty seeping hole in his arm just above the elbow, she gently cleaned the wound, and then dressed it. Focussing on the wound, she just about managed to ignore other feelings.

Gene sat up to admire her handiwork. "Very good love, if you're ever in need of a change of job, may I recommend working in a munitions factory? Now, where exactly are we?"

Alex winced, "in 2008" she tentatively ventured.

"Bolly, I have a hole in my arm, not my head." Gene sighed, his DI had clearly lost the plot. "Am I supposed to deduce from this new stunning piece of unsupported evidence, that I am dead and you are now my _imaginary construct_?"


	2. Chapter 2

Alex's jaw dropped for a split second. Then she snapped it shut and pursed her lips. He was winding her up again she could feel it. _The ignorant, insufferable, ungrateful oaf._ She opened her mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but he got there first.

"Did you think I didn't pay attention, Bolly." He glared at her. "Or did you think that I am some kind of Neanderthal. I grew up in the school of hard knocks, Miss Privilege, we didn't all have your fancy education, but we had to learn and fast."

Gene swung his legs down off the bed, and leaned forward, his arm was on fire just above the elbow joint, _no serious damage_ he thought to himself, and smiled grimly, then levered himself to his feet. Abruptly the room seemed to sway. He focused on Bolly, acutely aware that a tirade was pouring from her lips, both her hands were on her hips, and she was leaning forward in that aggressive way that made him want to act like Captain Caveman and jump her right then and there. He tuned out the aggressive torrent that was breaking over his head, instead concentrating on keeping himself upright. He felt lightheaded and very nauseated, and Miss Bossy Bolly Knickers would have to keep for the moment.

Alex spluttered in fury, and concern. He was struggling. Half of her wanted to hit him over the head with a heavy object, the other half wanted to soothe away his pain, mother him with pillow plumping concern and feed him chicken soup.

_Whoa, where did that one come from Alex my girl._ Alex was startled by her own reaction, and why she was reacting this way. Her next thoughts did nothing for her jangled nerves, _two hours have passed and I'm still fixated on Gene, why? Where is Molly?_

Pulling herself together, she straightened up. "Whatever you believe, this is my life, this is my home, my bedroom" she looked down at her clothes, "my wardrobe. And whatever you think may be going on, I am not mad, this is 2008."

Gene scowled at her, he obviously wasn't getting through, "Bolly! Right now, I'm prepared to take a few things on trust, because three hours ago we were running for our lives in a run down warehouse, and now we're here. Since I don't know where here is, and in some deep significant way, the only way I'm going to get any answers is by relying on a posh tart with the disposition of a love starved cobra..." He took a step forward towards her, and his knees almost buckled. He grabbed the door handle in an effort to keep himself upright, and retain some dignity. "Your call."

Alex was outraged, and strangely, slightly mollified by his weirdly left field compliment. She reached out to take his hand. Gene felt her touch on his skin, _well whatever this is, this is real_, he also felt a very strong urge to just let go. His head was swimming, the heat radiating from the wound in his arm, contrasted strangely with the ice chill he was feeling.

All Alex's instincts were on fire, she wanted him, she needed him in the worst possible way, and Ms Alexandra Drake didn't need anybody. For a few long seconds, they stood looking at each other, holding hands, the message was clear in their eyes.

A door slammed.

"Mum!"

Alex let go Gene's hand and spun round, "Molly" she cried, racing for the stairs, she scrambled down them, and flew into the arms of her daughter. Gathering her close, Alex crushed Molly to her. "Sweetheart, I was so afraid that I'd lost you."

Molly eased back from her mother. "But Mum, why would you think you'd lost me?" She looked puzzled. "I was only at school." She stared at her mother, something was indefinably different; Molly was a serious and intelligent child, and sensitive. Something was definitely going on, she started to form the question.

A noise from behind her mother made her look up. A large man, dressed in black, was coming down the stairs. His expression wasn't particularly friendly, but his steely blue eyes softened a little at the sight of the child, and in that split second, Molly felt she could trust him.

Alex took a deep breath and got to her feet. "Gene, this is Molly, my daughter." Her eyes pleaded with him, why she wasn't sure, but Gene was ahead of her. He held out his hand, "Very pleased to meet you, Molly."

Molly put her slim little hand into the large one offered to her, and her fingers were enveloped in what felt like a bear's paw. But the gentle strength of his handshake convinced her. She smiled up at him, suddenly brimming with confidence, "Any friend of Mum's is a friend of mine; pleased to meet you."

Her daughter's sudden cocky confidence made Alex blush, and glance up at Gene. But his expression was unfathomable.

Gene was having a hard time of it, in that second of taking Molly's hand, and her confident comeback, a hint of the woman had peeped out from the child's eyes, and knocked him for six. Whatever this was, and the evidence he could see was adding up to the strangest place he'd ever been in his life, he would be protecting these two women with every ounce of his being. The sound of a discussion broke in on his brief reverie, and he roused himself sufficiently to pay attention.

"Evan's coming to dinner!" Molly was saying. His Bolly was looking flustered, and pleased and angry all at once. _Typical_ he snorted. His glare met Bolly's above her daughter's head. "Shall I make myself scarce, so that you two lovebirds can be alone?"

"Lovebirds?" Molly put her head on one side. "What do you mean by lovebirds?"

"Nothing!" Alex hastily put her hand on her child's shoulder and steered in the general direction of the stairs and her homework. "Gene was just being funny." Her scowl was easily as black as his. "Besides, where will you go?" she muttered out the side of her mouth as she passed him into the kitchen.

"Since it isn't my style to play gooseberry to a posh tart and her posh nancy feller, I expect I'll manage" he shot back, irritated that his hackles were rising so much over the smooth beggar. There was something that really annoyed him about Mr Fancy Pants White, the pet poodle of Ms Caroline Price, certificated broom stick carrier and official harridan representative of all pond scum. He determinedly fanned the flames of his annoyance, because truth be told he was feeling like he'd been run over by a truck. 2008, somewhere past teatime by his guess, and not a cuppa in sight. "Bolly, aren't there any biscuits in this mess!" he poked around the inside of the nearest cupboard in search of sustenance. "My stomach thinks my throat's been cut." Lips pursed with annoyance, she turned and handed him a plate. He lifted the corner of the sandwich and peered between the slices of bread suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Cheese and salad." she growled. Her eyes narrowed, and he snatched up half the sandwich and devoured most of it in one bite. Their eyes met and challenged each other. Alex was the first to look away, annoyed with herself for giving in.

Upstairs, Molly reached out and pushed her bedroom door open a little further with her toe. Homework didn't hold nearly the attraction that listening to her mother and Gene did. Molly could sense the tension between them, but she felt it was a good tension, she wasn't even sure why she should think that tension was good, as that wasn't quite the way her dictionary described it, but this felt like...she paused for the right word, and startled herself by pronouncing the word she was thinking of. "Family." She paused. Homework could wait. She pushed it to one side and slid quietly out of her bedroom door, carefully negotiating the creaking floorboard at the top of the stairs. Slipping into a good vantage point, she sat down on the top step and listened intently. She could hear her mother's footsteps, quick, impatient, and his heavier tread, slower, more measured, murmured voices. Molly settled in to await developments.

Gene parked himself heavily on the kitchen bar stool. He polished off the rest of the sandwich and watched Bolly busying herself with saucepans, a sardonic expression on his face. Alex, fully aware of his scrutiny, determined not to rise to the bait. A small thrill was coursing through her, Gene was on her turf now. She was the secure one, knew exactly who she was, where she was and what she was all about. _Well DCI Gene Hunt, the boot's now on the other foot._

The door bell rang.


	3. Chapter 3

Evan White adjusted his tie in a quick practiced movement. He looked good, with the confidence which springs from such deep buried knowledge, his self conceit was so perfect as to appear to be humility. He'd arrived, precisely as bidden, at 6.30pm, for a light repast to be followed by tickets to a concert.

He could hear the sound of feet coming towards the door, his perfectly practiced, polite, friendly _but not too friendly_, smile slid into place and he raised his hand.

The door swung open.

Evan's jaw dropped, his equilibrium slipped, and he stood, hand frozen in mid air.

"Good evening, Mr White." The voice was exactly as he remembered it. _Gene Hunt... impossible._ He gazed up at the unexpected and unwelcome apparition. Then his solicitor's savoir faire rose up automatically, recovering his position and his equilibrium, he shook hands with Gene. "Good evening, Mr Hunt. I had no idea you were joining us." He stepped past the larger man into the cool hallway.

Alex stepped from the kitchen. "Evan, you really shouldn't have," she accepted the offered flowers with good grace, and just a hint of mischief, _put that in your pipe and smoke it Gene Hunt_. She flicked a glance up at her "imaginary construct", Gene's profile appeared carved in stone. "Dinner will be another five minutes."

Evan, had by this time regained all of his customary calm, "Alex", she turned towards him, "have you forgotten something?" She frowned, as though drawing a blank. "The concert. I have tickets." 

Alex looked stricken and slightly confused. "Tickets?" Covering well, "Oh, Evan, I am sorry, I had completely forgotten. And then there's Molly." She trailed off.

Evan's protestations were already to rise to his lips, when help came from an unexpected quarter.

"I'll stay with her."

Alex looked startled. "You?"

"Yes me. I admit I'm not exactly Grandma, but I'm not exactly the Big Bad Wolf either." he glanced down at her prim white shirt and grey trousers, "Little Red Bolly Knickers." Alex's eyebrows snapped together, once again he'd wrong footed her, only this time it was in front of Evan.

Evan sprang in, relieved to have got what he wanted.

"Well that's settled then." He moved towards the dining table. Alex subsided. She looked long and hard at Gene, wondering what exactly was running through his mind this time.

Gene was feeling the need to put some space between Miss Bolly Knickers and himself before things went up in smoke. He needed to establish where and when he was, _now I'm starting to sound like Sam Tyler_. He followed Evan to the dining table.

"Molly..." Alex called her daughter. 

"Just coming..." scampering feet on the stairs. Alex paused, in a trance, heart bursting with love and pride. _My Molly._

Molly slipped her hand into her mother's, sensing without words the need for contact. She smiled happily up at her mother.

"Look who's here." Alex's voice held a slight tremble, overcome with the sudden flush of emotion. She was home.

"Evan." Molly smile split into a beam of delight and she threw herself forward trustingly into Evan's arms. In that second of contact, Alex noticed two things, that Evan seemed slightly uncomfortable with Molly's enthusiasm, and that Gene was less than enthusiastic with Evan's reception of her daughter.

Alex silently thanked heavens that dinner was over, as she settled into the passenger seat of Evan's BMW. It had been stilted at best, and Alex also thanked heavens for her daughter's presence and chatter. _Without Molly it would have been a complete disaster. And what is wrong with Evan?_ She glanced sideways at him, outwardly at least he was the same Evan, the one she had always known, _and still do know..._ Alex found herself unwilling to examine the realities of what she had learned about their relationship. _It's all in my mind._ She settled back against the seat, annoyed with herself, but relieved to be out, away from another problem that was plaguing her mind. The reasons she felt unhappy with her return to her life were something else she could ignore for the time being.

Gene slumped down onto the sofa. "What do you want to do now, little Miss Molly."

"Can we watch a movie?" Molly grabbed for the remote. Glanced up at him hesitantly and then handed it over. Gene glanced down at something completely alien. "I'm feeling tired love, you choose." he quickly handed it back before it bit him. It was starting to dawn on him that this may be about half past seven on a Thursday evening, but this Thursday was totally foreign to him. _Covered it well, though._ He shifted into a more comfortable position and settled back to watch. _Might even pick up some clues, jeez, beginning to sound like Sherlock frigging Holmes..._

Molly slid down the saved movie list rapidly, _You've Got Mail, excellent!_ She pressed the appropriate buttons. Then settled back. It seemed entirely natural to cuddle back against a large solid comforting presence on the sofa next to her. A heartbeat's pause, and a strong arm went round her shoulders, Molly smiled, _this feels good._

The film was a romantic comedy, which for a man whose last foray into the world of cinema was Popeye Doyle chasing around France after a poncey low life who'd pumped him full of something very nasty indeed, was a true endurance test. One thing that Gene had picked up, everyone now seemed to be communicating by computer. This was something that he'd picked up at dinner, _email, what the heck is that..._ Well now he knew. What it was, at any rate.

He knew he was going to have to work out how to survive in this world. Communicating would be a good start. _Ask Bolly...no way...ask Molly_ he looked down at his little companion. _Hmmm, possible._ "Well Moll, have you got mail too?"

"Of course!" her innocent little face looked up at him. A thought niggled at the back of his mind that he was taking advantage of a child, but he squashed it down. He was feeling fragile in the presence of Bolly right now, _assume the defensive position, she already thinks she knows it all. _"I'll show you."

Levering himself upright, he followed her upstairs, only much more slowly. The feeling of hot and cold had returned, and his arm ached. Ten minutes later, he was submerged in learning something about the twenty first century, and it was one big blur to him.

Two hours later, Alex Drake let herself in her own front door and wondered at the quiet. She set the alarm, turned the lights off and mounted the staircase. Pausing in her daughter's doorway, she was slightly startled by the sight of her feisty nine year old, in bed, fast asleep, and her large, inconvenient, imaginary construct, slumped in the chair next to the bed, also fast asleep. Tamping firmly down on thoughts of tenderness, she gave him a nudge. He grunted and shifted position. _Damn._ She nudged a little harder. Another grunt, another slight shift. He was out for the count. She tiptoed out, removed the spare quilt from the spare bedroom and returned. Covering him, she reached over and switched off the screen.

Alex returned to her own bedroom, thoughts whirling in her head. _What am I going to do with him tomorrow. What is going on._ She climbed into bed and fell back against the pillows. _Sleep, that's all I need. It's a dream. It will all be allright in the morning._ She really didn't want to think of the alternatives.

A quiet bell sounded next to her ear. Followed a split second later by an ear splitting screech. "what..." She sat bolt upright. It took a moment for her to collect her scrambled thoughts sufficiently to recollect that the ear splitting shriek was the house alarm and that it would be waking her neighbours. Alex bailed out of bed, grabbing her housecoat as she fled, struggling into it and trying to do it up as she negotiated the stairs. 

"Hell and damnation." He was stood there, glaring at the box. "Bolly, all I wanted was a swift ciggie, and I got the **End of the World is Nigh**. Dammit, shut that thing off."

It was true. Gene _Bloody_ Hunt was not a figment of her imagination. There he was, large as life and twice as unnatural, stirring feelings in her that she didn't want, and did want and... and...

"Bolly." the impatience in his tone flicked at her nerve endings. "Alarm!" He jabbed an emphatic finger upwards.

Without a word, she opened the cupboard door behind her. "Look." She punched in the code. Blissful silence.

"Remember it for next time." She retorted airily. Alex was in control.

Gene had had a lousy night, his sleep had been fitful and full of weird dreams. All he wanted was a ciggie and a cuppa. Then he wanted to find the address on the printed calling card in his pocket. He couldn't remember picking it up, or being given it, and it piqued his curiosity. Since the best way to achieve those ends was through this _bossy, cocky, all fur coat and no knickers, smart alec, crack brained halfwit,_ he would have to be patient. Controlling his temper with effort, he neatly compartmentalised her response as _women's trouble, to be filed away for future non use._

"Bolly. Tea?" he schooled his features into an expression he rather hoped she would recognise as conciliatory.

Alex was immediately concerned by the wince that crossed his normally deadpan features, and her mood softened. He was in pain. She was home. She could afford to be generous.

"Tea it is." She turned and entered the kitchen.

Pleased with the results of his unexpected foray into the world of the female human brain, Gene followed.

Some miles away, Don Bradley, poured himself a fresh coffee and settled back in his chair to wait. He'd been feeling good about today. He wasn't quite sure way, but it felt like a day when something was going to happen.

Life had been good to Don. He'd ridden the wave at the top of the eighties, getting in on the ground floor of the music business he'd worked his way up, and watched and waited, then branched out on his own with a radical new label which musicians had jumped at. His artists were making money, and so was he. Life was good, but there was a sense of incompleteness, which had grown with the years. Now 35, he was at the top of his game.

_To think where it all began._ He reached down to the bottom draw of his beautiful desk, running his fingers appreciatively over the fine wood, as he always did, he pulled the drawer open.

A simple walkman player, a very old design, lay within. He took it out, cherishing it. _From such humble acorns..._


	4. Chapter 4

_(Allow me to apologise for previous chapter's miserable formatting, I must edit before saving next time)._

_For those of you who have stuck around this long to wonder, you can check out the influences for this tale on my profile._

_**Once again, just in case, I don't own, and since I don't actually have a job right now, please don't sue. The only currency involved in this case is a fiendish pleasure in what if...?**_

* * *

Gene turned the calling card over in his hand. On one side, it had a picture of a rather sinister looking angel, with a name "Dark Angel", on the other side was an address. The address he was standing outside right now. He felt tense. He couldn't explain that, just a feeling deep down in his copper's gut which said that this was somehow very significant to him personally. He looked down at the card again, no mistake, the sign above the blacked out double doors said "Dark Angel", with the same sinister character by the side of the doorway. The carpet which went to the edge of the pavement was black, _the whole place gives me the creeps._ He looked at the card, and shoved it in his pocket, strode across the road, reached out for the door handle, which gave beneath his hand, and the door creaked open.

He could now hear the sound of music, _someone's home,_ he entered the cool gloom of the club. He descended the stairs in the direction of the music, and a dim red light.

The room was large, with a small stage at one side and an enormous bar on the other side. Two barmen were cleaning and sorting, a small weaselly man was sitting on a bar stool nursing something short with ice and slice, watching a woman on the stage.

She was dancing, if you could call it dancing, it had rhythm and attitude and she held Gene's attention in a way which he couldn't explain. She wasn't spectacularly beautiful, she wasn't a brilliant dancer, but she had a something that lit up the stage. She was very tall, obviously amazingly fit, her muscles long and lean and clearly defined, long shaggy hair some indeterminate colour between blonde and brown, hung in a slowly unraveling plait down her back. The dance came to an end, and she held the pose for a few seconds. For a second his world weary blue eyes locked with her more guarded look.

"Miss?"

"CJ." her voice was firm, decisive, quite deep, the merest hint of an accent at once familiar and foreign to him. "You must be Don Bradley's security guy come to check out our arrangements." she spoke as she fished in a sports bag for a towel. "Weasel!"

The small weaselly man left his stool and his drink. "Show Mr...?" she waited for the cue. "Hunt." He supplied, "Gene Hunt."

"Show Mr Hunt our arrangements." She flicked the small man a hint of a smile, the kind of smile which could instantly light up any room. The recipient of the smile blushed, and smiled back. Unfortunately, his smile had the instant effect of making him look more shifty than ever. "Sure CJ. If you'd like to come with me, Mr Hunt." Gene nodded, and followed, wishing that he was being shown around by the woman.

She was young, no more than about 25, she was tall, at least his height, and very fit; somehow he doubted that dance was what kept her that way. There was a recklessness in her smile, a careering giddiness that made him want to know more. He'd already clocked the angel tattoo on her upper arm, and since it was a dead spit for the angel on the card, and out front on the doorway, he was guessing that either the girl belonged to the club, or the club belonged to the girl. _Don Bradley_, he mused to himself, the name that was on the documents that he'd found in the car that morning.

_The car isn't going to last long._ His first flush of pleasure at the sight of the large red BMW which went with the key he'd found in his pocket, was quickly eliminated in the actual driving. The calm, authoritative yet conciliatory voice which invited him to put his seatbelt on was really, really annoying, it was Bolly but without the ghost of a chance of comeback! He'd just got used to all the bings, and bongs, and this soft irritating voice, when he'd driven past a sign which he hadn't been prepared for. Something about congestion charging. He'd matched the road sign to a sign stuck in a shop window, and come out five minutes later eight pounds the poorer. _Eight bleeding quid._ He thanked his lucky stars that somehow his wallet, which hitherto had contained little more than an emergency fiver, and a little something for other known emergencies, was now reasonably well stocked with cash, something he suspected that in this new alien world he would be requiring rather a lot of. A quick delve in the glove compartment had yielded a sheaf of documents, some of which related to the car, and others, to his supposed new job with Bradley Music Industries.

He was interrupted in this little reverie by the weaselly little man saying something to him. "Err, yes...I'm sure that'll be fine." Gene was slightly hazy about what he'd just agreed to but relieved it didn't elicit any subsidiary questions. What he'd established, through paying the minimum amount of attention to what the little man was saying to him, was that the club was indeed owned by the girl, he "Weasel" was the manager, and that he, Gene, was here to check over security arrangements for Don Bradley's latest new signing "Talos" to be playing here live tonight. And that the "Don" as he was known, would be on hand to sign up a new deal with CJ for club nights showcasing his new young artists. Both being young busy people, CJ and Don had not yet met face to face, but that Don's new security director (Gene himself) would be overseeing the link between Bradley Music Industries and Dark Angel, one of the hottest clubs on the circuit.

Gene decided that since Mr Weasel was so forthcoming, without being too suspicious, that he would be a useful source of information on CJ. He was not disappointed. Weasel was easily primed. As it happened, Weasel and CJ had met in a bar. He'd had lots of money, as a burnt out city trader, she'd had lots of vision, but no money, and no real idea about how to go about making real use of that vision. He'd bought the club, bowed to her superior instincts on what was and was not happening on the club scene and they were busy going from strength to strength. She was fiery, passionate, not married or (as far as Weasel knew) even dating, she had been matron of honour at his civil ceremony with his partner Tim, and was the best friend a gay guy could have. She fronted the club with lots of style and panache, brought in the young edgy happening crowd, some of them flying on the very extreme edge and spent her spare time stunting with a film group that hung out at the club. Setting up his third round of drinks, Gene was getting the low down on things he'd never dreamed of _blokes marrying blokes_ he was struggling with that one, and the precise nature of what CJ and her friends were flying on the very edge of, he was equally uncertain.

The club was drug free. Weasel was adamant about that one. All security were very, very well paid, well taken care of, with good pension plans (final salary linked) _as if I know what that is_ and completely loyal to the girl who took care of her own. They were all very happy and this was a wonderful place to work. _And I'm the King of Siam._

He'd seen it in her eyes, those lost, bruised, guarded blue eyes that reminded him of something. He'd seen it in her smile, that dangerous, out of control look, _something was up, the perfect life couldn't be more bollocks if it was wrapped in a soft sac dangling between the back legs of a large bovine_. Her passion and something else shone out of her eyes, and that something else he'd seen somewhere before. _Bolly._ Now she was always there, at the back of his mind, but he was hung up on the chase right now. He was following his nose, his gold plated copper's instinct which said that he was on to something Why was he here? Well perhaps if he hung around for long enough he just might find out.

She was coming towards him right now. CJ. He wondered if that stood for her first and last names, or was something else. Catherine, Caroline or Clare?

"Well. Mr Hunt, if you want to come back with me now while I change, we can sort the final details." Once again, her eyes challenged him in a way that was familiar yet completely foreign.

"Your car, or mine." Gene wasn't certain exactly why he'd said that, the last thing he ever looked forward to was being driven anywhere by a bird, any bird, even one that looked as capable and hot as CJ.

"Oh mine, I think, don't you." Once again he couldn't fathom the challenge in her voice, or eyes, or for that matter why he seemed to be going somewhere with a bird he didn't know to a place he wasn't sure of, when so much else seemed unresolved. He just knew that here was a mystery that he had to follow to its conclusion. Only by tracing the thread back would he find a way out this entanglement for himself and Bolly.

He followed her out a back door into a darkened garage. He knew, even before she flicked on the light switch that here was a vehicle which spoke more directly to his soul.

It was a monster, a bright emerald green metallic monster, so bright it almost hurt his eyes to look at it. The body was lowered, and had some sort of kit on, he walked around, drinking in the high fin spoiler, it looked like something from the rally world. The huge alloy wheels and tyres like rubber bands were something he wasn't used to, but knew with a driver's instinct that in the right hands this baby would fly. He tried to find some clue to its origins, but all the badges had been removed. He paused expectantly by the driver's door.

"No one drives the Orion but me." she growled.

With slightly bad grace he gave way, walking round to the other side and opening the passenger door. The race seat sucked him in.

"Seatbelt." she inclined her head, eying him with another unfathomable look. "Cops round here are real bastards, and I don't want points on my licence."

He was about to tell her that it would be alright, because he was with her, then realised that he didn't have a clue, he had no idea how he fitted into the police world anymore. The thought was disturbing, _like losing Bolly_...

That thought made him run cold all over, and a slight heat from the hole in his arm, the ruined shirt covered by the sleeve of his jacket. He pressed his hand to the injury, feeling the throb, and the link with Bolly and how he had ended up here.

The muted roar of a powerful and well tuned engine dragged his thoughts back to where he was. _Answers._ He needed them, and if this girl was the first clue to the answers, he could join the dots up and get back to Bolly.

CJ swung the car out of the garage, and they were on their way.


	5. Chapter 5

_Only short chapter this time, mostly domestic, with some hefty hints...and a fair dollop of ham along the way..._

* * *

It was Friday, it was teatime, and Alex Drake had had just about enough of waiting. He'd driven off several hours ago, she had no real idea where he had gone, and he had certainly given no indication of when he would be coming back_ and...and... I've had it._ She was the one in control, she was the one who was responsible. But she was the one worrying herself sick over an _imaginary construct._

_Imaginary construct, my girl, you know he's real. You've felt his touch, you've cleaned up his wounded arm, that's his blood on that dressing lying in the bottom of the bathroom waste bin. No other man has ever inspired you to these levels of insanity...I hate him...so that's why you want to tear all his clothes off and make love until neither of you can think straight...argh! Stop it...Gene Hunt is in my head...He's in your blood stream, girl and you know it. Even a complete transfusion won't get him out._

Alex snapped the white table cloth and it flew neatly over the table. She busied herself laying the table, knives, _want to shove one of those through him don't you..._ forks, _touch my body, feel my fork,_ spoons..._no, for goodness sake stop it. You're becoming completely irrational._ She took a couple of deep breaths. And suddenly became aware that Molly was staring at her with her head on one side.

"No...Molly...I'm not mad."

"But I thought talking to yourself was the first sign of madness..."

"Very funny." She flapped a hand _badly need to cool off here..._ "Have you finished your homework."

"Diversionary tactics."

"Very clever, Little Miss..." Alex swooped. "Tickle fight."

They writhed around together, giggling and tickling.

"Enough...enough..." cried Alex, slightly out of breath... "Mummy has work to do."

"But what about, Gene?" her daughter's soft innocent voice cut straight to the heart of Alex's problem. _What about Gene? What in god's name was she going to do with him? Where was he?_

* * *

Gene Hunt was asking himself the same question. He was stood, nursing a whisky, in a large and dark room, which was full of computers and had a huge flat television as its centrepiece. He was surprised by the nature of the room, one wall covered mainly with photographs which appeared to be pinned directly onto a huge corkboard which appeared to cover the entire wall. All the photographs were of youngish people doing daredevil things. Gene himself was a bit of risk taker, but parachuting off the top of a high building seemed to him to be a recipe for disaster.

He recalled Weasel's words about CJ's friends being out on the hairy edge. Only this edge seemed hairier than a polar bear's backside. Another thing disturbed him about this display of photographs, it was as though CJ had come into the world fully grown, he couldn't see a single picture of her family, and that bothered him in a way he could not fully explain. No parents, no brothers and sisters, no past.

The door off to his left opened and she was walking towards him. She had changed again, the dancer was gone, in her place was something quite, quite different. _The businesswoman._ He took in the skin tight black catsuit, made of some thick and clinging material that emphasized her magnificent figure, she slipped on a long sleeveless coat, made of some kind of lightweight floating material with a stiff upstanding collar also in black, and with her upswept hair done in a neat smooth french twist, she looked a picture of sophisticated glamour a million miles from what he had been expecting.

_The Ice Queen cometh_, unbidden another picture of Alex Drake sprang to mind. _Bolly at her frostiest._ He gestured to the photo wall. "Running away from something?" He wasn't certain what had made him ask that, just an instinct that something wasn't right here, and somehow his current situation and her past were linked. It didn't make a whole heap of sense, but then again, not much about his current situation _or even his normal situation_, did.

The way she set her chin, the light of battle in her eyes, so familiar, but impossibly different. For a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she shrugged, "or towards something ...rather depends on how you view it."

"And your parents?" Instinct was driving him on.

"Dead." The flatness of her tone warned him that he was pushing into territory that she didn't want charted. They had only just met, and he was wading around in something deeply personal, and female emotion things were something he definitely did not do, but this was the missing link, he could feel it.

"How."

"Blown to bits." The very matter of fact tone told him that this was a raw wound. Her eyes were dark, and she'd gone deep inside. He could hear the rise and fall of her voice, but it was as though it belonged to someone else.

"They bought a cottage when Dad retired, and moved to the country. Mum wasn't particularly keen but she loved him so much, she went along with it." She sat down on the back of the long black leather sofa. "Of course, Dad was retired, but that did not stop him being a copper. They became... involved with something... then one day Dad fired up his car to back it out of the garage... Mum was in the passenger seat... and my parents were gone."

Her chin went up, he could see her eyes shining brightly, but she held herself together with a supreme effort of will. "Gone forever ...I wasn't even there... and there was almost nothing left."

She stood up, he could see her pulling herself together with the iron will and self discipline that had obviously led to her success at such a young age.

She looked him over with a critical eye. "You look a bit... under dressed for tonight." She gestured towards the door behind her. "Plenty of hot water... and one of the few things I have left of my parents, are a couple of my Dad's suits and shirts. You'll find them hanging in the end space of the wardrobe on the right."

He was going to refuse, but then to refuse seemed like passing up on an opportunity to find out more. _And if she's offering, it's not like her father is likely to mind._ He could use the change of clothes and he needed to take every opportunity to find out more.


	6. Chapter 6

_Just in case: no currency involved except pleasure. Please don't sue. Thank you._

* * *

The club was dark, very, very loud and very, very crowded. Gene wandered outside for a cigarette, and a ponder on his next move. He had washed and changed his clothes, slightly surprised to find the suit hanging in CJ's wardrobe fitted very well. There were a couple of shirts, and he chose the black one, _it somehow seems to fit..._

CJ had been waiting for him, when he walked into what she described as her sitting room.

"Ready?" She stood up.

"Ready. And I need to catch up with Don Bradley..." he was slightly surprised that he hadn't given much thought to the other side of the puzzle since he'd arrived at the club.

They returned to her car. She paused for a second, then tossed him the key. "Perhaps you would like to drive?"

"Thought no one drives your car?" He was surprised, but his fingers were itching to get around a steering wheel of something like this.

"Humour me." Her expression was inscrutable.

He walked round the front of car, taking in the number plate for the first time. "A 55 KKR?"

"Old family heirloom." She wasn't going to be more forthcoming than that. He could tell. Something about the license plate struck a chord. He smiled to himself, and opened car door. She opened her door and threw a large black rucksack onto the back seat.

Once behind the wheel, he knew he had been right about it, this was definitely a driver's car, something that he could really relate to. He turned the key and the engine burst into life, he swung the car out of her parking space, and headed in the general direction of the club.

Once there, things had taken on a truly surreal quality.

Gene had to pinch himself to believe any of it was real. Suddenly he understood why both Bolly and Sam before her had behaved the way they did. Which was why he was wandering around outside on a freezing night, trying to kick start his bemused brain into some kind of order. _Because I fear lord, that I have gone stark raving bloody mad..._

The man who arrived at the club just after himself and CJ had introduced himself to Gene.

"Don Bradley."

"Gene Hunt." Gene had shaken his hand, and in that moment, suddenly he was standing on waste ground looking down at a badly traumatized small boy, who only wanted to see his baby brother. The image was so real he could almost feel the cold foggy air surround him.

The knowledge in the man's eyes was the real killer.

_Then CJ..._ The attraction had been instantaneous and immediately obvious to anyone looking on. Don Bradley had taken her hand, _and they were looking at each other in a way that suggested something a lot more..._

Bradley ordered champagne, and they'd danced and laughed and chatted together as though they'd known each other their entire lives, while Gene's brain was reeling from all the connections.

_Gotta put it all together..._ He was feeling cold and hot at the same time. The room seemed to be whirling around and voices seemed to be coming from somewhere very far away. He knew he had to get out...

He reached the street and staggered. Leaned against the railings and tried to put it all right in his mind. _Because none of this makes any sense, if he's the child me and Bolly picked up all those years ago, where does he fit in all this... who am I here to save... I'm here to save someone right. _He put his hands up to his head and wondered if somehow this was all a dream and he would wake up soon.

* * *

_The clown was at the foot of her bed again. Only this time she knew it was her father. "this time" she said "I'm not scared... I know who you are... and I know what you've done... do your worst" She sat up and folded her arms across her chest, challenging him._

_The clown smiled, and pushed her backwards_

_She was falling, through the air, into the black...then she was landing on the cobbles beneath... lying there, she looked up... he was standing there at the end of the street, but he was looking past her to someone in the fog beyond... she strained to see... the image was flickering, ripples expanded and covered her... she was sinking... a hand stretched out to her... she couldn't quite hear his voice, but he was shouting...she knew he was shouting...**NO**_**... **_she screamed, but it was useless... the clown was pulling her away ... away from her saviour..._

Alex woke up with jerk, she was still fully clothed, lying on the sofa, and the television was the only light source in the room. She reached out for the remote and flicked over to a news channel and wondered for the umpteenth time where the hell Gene Hunt was.

* * *

It was four in the morning.. He stood outside the club, thundering headache, holding the key to the BMW in his hand and wondering whether to work his way back to Bolly's place or to try and sleep it off in the car until a reasonable hour, and then work his way back to Bolly's.

Right then he needed a corner in which to take some kind of stock, unravel the puzzle that was making his head hurt, and go home. He couldn't remember a time when he had wanted or needed to get home this badly.

He was sitting in the car, wondering about which option was the best one, when CJ crossed the road in front of him. She'd dispensed with the coat, was buckling something around her waist, something about the furtive way she was moving piqued his interest. He got out of the car, she was up to something and whatever she was up to was the answer to many of the questions he had buzzing around in his mind.

Following her was difficult, she was savvy and nervous and obviously surveillance aware. Several times he thought she'd spot him, but she kept moving. It was only when she disappeared in through a small door into a tall building that he knew he had her.

He followed her in, but couldn't see her, he looked around frantically... then he could hear footsteps up ahead somewhere in the dark. A door opened and closed. He followed. There was one door, it led to a stairwell, and he could hear someone climbing the stairs.

He looked up, _SHIT,_ the stairwell seemed to go on forever upwards into the gloom. He knew he was always going to follow.

Twelve flights of stairs later and he was having to exert himself hugely just to keep behind her, keep quiet and stay in the shadows. Several times she stopped, and looked down behind her, he was sure she had seen him, but she continued on.

They reached the top. Gene paused, not only to stay behind her and out of her field of vision, but to catch his breath. _Bugger the fags and booze, _he was almost wheezing with the effort of the climb, _you out of condition bastard, perhaps Sam had something in that overweight, over the hill thing he was moaning about..._

Sensing he was close to answers, he climbed out onto the roof behind her. She was there, looking over the edge, then to his horror she walked away from the edge, spun and ran toward the parapet, she was going to throw herself over.

"**CJ" **he screamed her name, racing forward, her head whipped round and then she was over the edge, free falling for a few brief seconds, before the parachute deployed. He sagged to his knees with relief. For one hideous moment he had thought that she was taking the final swan dive, then the backwash of rage hit. He was angrier than he had ever been in his life, even the day of Bolly's apparent betrayal had nothing on the fury that was stoking up in him now. He was going to blow like Vesuvius, but he had to catch up with the object of his rage first.

Gene stormed back into the building, and opened the door leading from the fire escape to the building beyond. He found himself in a long corridor with rooms off, he could hear lift machinery going.

The cleaner was startled when a large angry man dressed in black entered the lift behind her, she normally had the floor to herself. One look at his thunderous face and she decided that keeping very, very quiet and staying in the corner was a good thing right then. He smacked the button for the ground floor hard, and even though her next floor was only two down, she really didn't fancy asking him to press the button for her.

Gene had time to nurse his rage on the way down, fanning the flames, _life is precious and throwing it away on a childish and idiotic stunt like that..._ he felt sick, peering over the edge, the ground appeared to rush up to meet him.

* * *

CJ was walking back to her car, she dragged her chute into the bag, stuffing it in any old how, dimly aware that this was a bad thing because she would have to sort it out later, but right then she was so angry... Her surprise and horror that he had followed her _spying on her, _were nothing to the near panic she had felt as she mistimed her jump and pulled the rip cord early. _His interference could have killed me._ Her temper snapped, she was a free agent, it was no business of his what she did in her spare time. And base jumps made her happy. She knew this building was unguarded and 28 floors was too good to miss. She'd mapped it all out, worked out her landing zone and the timing, so that she was less like to get arrested...then he'd gone and fucked it all up...

"What the fuck is the matter with you," he bellowed from just behind her, "do you have a death wish or are you just stupid..."

"This is what I do..." she rounded on him, "get over it, because..." she stepped closer, standing toe to toe with him, anger sweeping through her building her rage, "up there," she stabbed upwards with an emphatic finger, "up there is the one and only place I really feel alive..."

Gene felt that surge of white hot anger, quite unlike anything that even Bolly at her most irritating could ever inspire in him, he grabbed her arms "Life is precious, why are you intent on throwing yours away, is this some way to get back at your parents? Because they died and left you...is it?" he demanded.

Her rage was matching his "what do you know," she was shivering, her breathing ragged, her eyes challenged him, "do you really want to know," her voice was starting to lose its edge, tipping over towards hysteria, "my mother was beautiful, she could light up a room with just a smile, she was feisty and challenging and intelligent, and I loved her so much..." her voice was pure agony "my father...my father was an over the hill, overweight, nicotine stained dinosaur of an ex copper, he was stubborn, with an overwhelming superiority problem, and a complex whiskey habit...and I worshiped him." Spent, she sagged in his hands, tears streaming down her face.

Gene had never relished being around crying women, but something snapped in him now, he gathered her close and held her. A second's stiff resistance, and she was leaning into him, her head on his shoulder, bawling like a tired child. He settled her close and rested his cheek against her hair as he soothed her back with a gentle hand. It was a moment of truth between them and Gene acknowledged it, he couldn't understand all of it, but CJ was the link, he was here to make connections, because it was only by making the connections he could save himself and Bolly, and get back to where he, _no they,_ belonged. He didn't know how or why any of this was possible, or how he even knew it, _but she is my little girl_.

He held her tighter.

"I know who you are...I've known from the first moment you walked into the club" the choked whisper in his ear brought a flood of emotion to the surface, he felt the tears running down his cheeks. They stood a long time like that, just holding on, because that moment in time was theirs, and that gift was too precious to waste.


	7. Chapter 7

_Just to assure you all that I have not forgotten... the plot bunny is still biting..._

* * *

Gene walked wearily up the steps to Alex's front door, a reluctant and weary CJ in tow. He had no idea if it was a good idea to bring her back here, but he wasn't leaving her on her own. And he was having a hard time getting past the point that she was his daughter. Some strange paradoxical loop had brought him face to face with his own child as an adult, before she had even been born in his own time. None of this made the slightest sense, and for a moment he wondered if it was all a dream. _Bloody nightmare more like._

He pressed the doorbell, and the front door was wrenched open, _as though she's been there all night waiting for me. Uh oh..._ One look at Bolly's face and he knew he was for it.

"Of all the insensitive oafs, you really do take the biscuit...Gene Hunt" She punctuated her diatribe by stabbing him in the chest with a long finger.

"You're busy."

Gene grabbed CJ's arm before she could walk away. "No. Nothing you can't hear." He pushed her ahead of him, and slid by the perpetually angry woman who was the love of his life, if she did but know it. As CJ stepped past Alex into the hall, she looked back at him, and with the blinding light of clarity, he knew at once who her mother must be. A surge of very strange emotions washed through him like the backwash from a speedboat. On one level, he was aware that Bolly was still tearing him off a strip, that CJ was standing there looking sulky and angry, and the expressions that were crossing her face were a mirror image of her mother, but there was this other weird feeling... Gene tested it out... it felt strangely like joy... he didn't do joy.

The volume of what was being said to him increased, penetrating his fog of emotions, but he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge any of it, and he turned away. Then she grabbed his arm.

In his night of revelations, he'd forgotten all about it, but by dawn's early light it seared through him like an avenging angel. A bolt of what felt very like lightening shafted through his elbow and his brain, and for the first time in his life, Gene fainted.

He hit the floor like a ton of bricks.

Alex and CJ gasped as one, "Gene" and swooped.

* * *

They managed to drag him into the sitting room, and somehow managed to push, pull and drag him up onto Alex's sofa.

Now she sat by his side, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and wishing with all her heart that he would wake up. Because he was scaring her witless.

Alex smoothed his hair back gently, and for the first time in her confident, generally together life, she didn't have a single clue what to do. She needed him to be the Gene Genie for her, because she was too fragile to figure this out, and too tired. He was Gene, tough, arrogant in his certainty, strong, and dependable, and that was exactly how she needed and wanted him.

A waft of perfume brought Gene back to the land of the living, _Bolly_, he would know her scent anywhere, didn't care what it was called, to him it was Bolly. It was her fingers gently stroking his hair back, her thigh pressed against his side, and he just lay there with his eyes closed, drinking in the sensations of a softer and gentler DI Alex Drake. The angry version was a little more than he wanted to handle right then.

At what point Alex became aware that he was back with her, she couldn't really say, but the fact that he was still lying there, and his eyes were still firmly closed, worried her.

CJ sat on the easy chair, her legs curled up and she hugged her knees against her. Clutched herself with all her might and held on. Otherwise she might be screaming. She was here, and her parents were here, but they weren't as she remembered them, these were much younger versions of her parents, in their prime. Her dad had been in his sixties, and her mum in her mid fifties when the car bomb had taken them from her. She didn't know how or why this was possible, but they were here together and she was seeing the first early dawn of their relationship. She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her arms, as he'd shouted at her in the back alley only a couple of hours before. Life was precious, he'd said, well she hadn't felt that for sometime. Somehow, in some impossible way, her Dad was back, and her Mum, she'd been given a second chance like no other and she felt like she might break apart with just one more tiny thing. And facing up to their disappointment in her and when they found out just what she had done to get the club, that was more than she could cope with.

Gene was exhausted, his arm hurt, his head hurt with just the pressure of all that was going on, and then there was the two women, one from his present, and his future, and one only from his future, which might never happen unless he could untangle the trail and get them back to where they all came from so that all their lives could continue. He was the Manc Lion, the ruler of his pride, except that right now he felt more like a middle aged tabby cat than a lion. And a pretty battered old mouser at that. Feeling every day of his forty five years, he prised his eyelids open and looked up into his Bolly's face.

Relief coursed through Alex, and sympathy. She'd been almost out of her mind with fear, for him, for herself, for what all of this meant, and Molly, even Evan and what this meant for him, she hadn't really stopped to think about what must be going through Gene's mind. She put her hand up to his cheek, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. A moment of truth passed between them, and he sat up, gathered her into his arms and held her. It was just comfort, like he had so many times before, and Alex put her head down on his shoulder and took comfort, because she really, really needed it.

CJ watched the tender moment pass between her parents, and shrank within herself. _How they must have loved each other, and how much they must have sacrificed, and how I have repaid that..._ She clutched her knees tighter and dropped her head forward on them, tears for all that she had misunderstood, and done wrong, and the price which had been paid.

How could she undo it?


End file.
